The King's Boots
by Nine Days a Queen
Summary: Just what is the real value of the king's boots? - Tag-fic to A Conspiracy of Kings for the king's attendant, Ion.


**Title: The King's Boots**

**Author: ninedaysaqueen **

**Beta: openedlocket – Thanks, hun!**

**Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of **_**The Thief**_**, **_**The Queen of Attolia**_**, **_**The King of Attolia**_**, **_**A Conspiracy of Kings**_**, nor of any characters, locations, and elephants contained within. All rights of the **_**Queen's Thief**_** series belong exclusively to Megan Whalen Turner and her respective publishers.**

**Spoilers: Books 1, 2, 3, and 4.**

**Rating: G/K**

**Genre: Drama/Fluff/Friendship**

**Word Count: 600 (approximate) - Excluding author's notes.**

**Summary: Just what is the real value of the king's boots? - Tag-fic to **_**A Conspiracy of Kings **_**for the king's attendant, Ion.**

**Author's Notes: Ion so totally needed his own fic! Don't any of you ladies have dibs on him yet? Come on... Costis is taken, time to reconsider! :)**

**Enjoy!**

_Thump._

Ion sighed, glancing at his fellow attendants in exasperation; and briefly debating whose turn it was to check on the king. He stood up from the long bench, stifling a groan. It was far from enjoyable to deal with the king when he was in a mood – his attendants holding very little to no sympathy with the man they'd once mocked as a fop and an imbecile. His job seemed to be even more treacherous these days due to the arrival of Sounis and his entourage. The king's temper took wild swings from cool and collected to his more impassioned fits, in which heavy object of all sorts were bashed against the walls and floor. The louder the sound they made the better, or so it seemed to Ion.

Approaching the king's personal chambers, the attendant knocked tentatively on the frame not wanting to move the door from where it was carefully positioned to allow the king privacy without separating him from his attendants and guards. His knock was met with a loud sigh and gruff permission to enter. Ion pushed the door open, seeing no splashes of ink on the walls (a good sign), no furniture missing backs or legs (another good sign), and the king neither muttering nor pacing (not a good sign).

"Is everything all right, Your Majesty?"

The king was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, his back to Ion. "Everything is fine. Perfect you might say. I am in no need of assistance. What. So. Ever." That was the king's petulant tone. One he usually used when he was angry with someone other than those in his immediate vicinity. Not seeing who the king could be angry with, his attendant was wondering more and more if that tone meant that he was angry with himself.

"I should leave then, Your Majesty?"

Again, the king sighed, "No..." turning backwards in his chair and facing his attendant, he said, "I apologize. That was uncalled for. I just threw one of the books earlier; nothing's broken. You may return to whatever you were doing before."

Ion stood pensive and while turning to leave, abruptly changed his mind. If he was going to say it, it might as well be now.

"Your Majesty? If I may?"

The king's voice was curt, "Ion, if you have some sagely wisdom to offer, I'd advise you to keep it to yourself."

The attendant in question cringed, straightening his stance. "No sagely wisdom, Your Majesty. Merely a suggestion."

"A suggestion about what?" It seemed the king was, indeed, going to pretend as if they were all ignorant of the situation. Wonderful.

"You've known Sounis for quite some time, correct?" He was treading, but Ion didn't care; not as long as he stood a chance of knocking the king's head back on straight.

"Are you implying something?" the king responded.

Definitely treading.

"I wouldn't presume to imply anything, Your Majesty. Not about you or your relationship with Sounis. I simply wish to suggest that I've seen many a friendship broken by this place. Not by the mechanics nor the motions..." he lowered his voice, "but merely from the threat."

There was silence. The king turned, meeting his gaze; Ion waited for the proverbial axe.

It didn't come.

The king shifted, breaking the stare; his shoulders held at a different angle. When he spoke, his voice was soft, "Thank you, Ion. You may go now."

Ion bowed before retreating, half-closing the door behind him; and finding himself oddly heartened by the encounter. He might be worth about as much as the king's boots when it came to his place in this court, but as Sounis had informed him, the king was a man who was very fond of his boots.

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**Thank you for reading,**

**ninedaysaqueen**


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